Pynchon & Swift or no Confederacy but a Union of Dunces

[alice wellintown]

Another thing to consider when comparing and contrasting Swift with
Pynchon is how the critical industry has constructed and deconstructed
each author in its own evolving image. After  the satirist, and we
should not ignore the irony in the fact that Thankery like Swift was a
Satirist,  Thackeray thwacked Swift with misanthropy, maligning his
satires by characterizing them as mad shrieks and gnashing
imprecations against humanity, the tearing of the last threads of
humanism's dignity down to the naked gutter and filthy waste pipes
where the sewage and flotsam sink and suck on platic breasts in the
sailor's grave waiting for a godless whistle and the winkling of an
eye when the last trumpet is muted and the world ends with a whimper,
then Freudians and the excremental analyses, when authors are
conflated with narrators and construed as characters of their own
fictions, so Gulliver and Slothrop, in the barn and over the rainbow,
pudding, shit, pudding, shit, pudding shit, three times makes it a
critics magic eye into the auto-erotic passions of priests bent on
utopia. So, fanatics and fantastic horses are taken as authorial
mouthpieces, obscene slips of the penis, while the perversities of
humans driven by utopian visions are ignored. The risk of satire, its
topics tripping into a past less remembered, more constructed.